


Jabroni's

by coggs



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coggs/pseuds/coggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claude Giroux is the greatest Flyer of his generation. Wayne Simmonds has seen him try to put on a shirt as pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jabroni's

**Author's Note:**

> Hand to god, I had 99% of this story written _before_ Giroux's arrest. I was just really inspired by [this](http://thecoggs.tumblr.com/post/84367367471/waynes-face-is-my-face-every-time-claude-does). Title taken from [Always Sunny in Philadelphia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3FycxyAqR0). 
> 
> Thanks to [Sarapod](http://archiveofourown.org/users/four_right_chords/) for editing a story that openly mocks her taste in men. Much appreciated.

**At The WaWa**

After the game, Wayne and Claude get to actually _go out and drink with the Harlem Globetrotters._ It would be a lie to say that it’s the culmination of Wayne's childhood dreams - that would be winning the Iditarod with Indiana Jones - but it’s up there. By 2:15 last call has come and gone, and all they need to do is grab a cab and get their drunk asses home. Except -

"I'm hungry," Claude whines, directly into Wayne's ear. He’s the only person who didn’t change after the game, so he’s still wearing his sleeveless jersey even though it’s 15 degrees out. He also spilled some tequila on it - or at least, Wayne assumes that's why he smells like a bottle of Patrón.

"Simmer," Claude whines louder, this time poking Wayne in the ribs. "I'm _hungry_."

Wayne sighs. "We will eat when we get to my place, which we will do as soon as we hail a cab, which will happen as soon as your pale ass stops poking me and starts trying to hail one."

Claude stares off in the distance for a few seconds. "No."

Wayne raises his eyebrows. "No?" he repeats.

"Nope!" Claude says, drawing out the O and popping the P. "I want a sandwich."

Wayne shoves him. "I can make you a sandwich _at my house_."

Claude shakes his head. "I want a sandwich from there." He points to the WaWa across the street. 

"You want a sandwich from - " Wayne starts to say, but then Claude’s crossing the street without checking for traffic and Wayne has to run after him so that he won't get hit by a car. "Great idea, you drunk asshole," Wayne mutters as he catches up. "Just cross the fucking street on your quest to get food poisoning, that'll end well." Claude isn't listening and clearly hasn't been for a while, but getting into a fake argument with him is making Wayne feel better.

"Cómo estás?" Claude, with a heavy slur in his speech, yells towards the cashier when they walk in. 

"Bien?" says the cashier, who is an Asian teenager. 

"Gra-thi-as," Claude says, with great exaggeration. "I'm looking for a sandwich." He holds his hands about six inches apart as he says this.

"Jesus Christ," Wayne mutters.

The cashier just shrugs and points toward the freezer. "They're over there, man." "Merci!" Claude yells, despite being no more than a foot away from everyone in the store. And then he walks directly into the Doritos display, knocking a third of it over before course-correcting to the freezer. 

"I'll pick those up," Wayne says with a sigh, but just as he’s bending over to do so, Claude yells, "Wayne, they have egg salad!"

"For the love of god," Wayne says, at a normal volume. "Please do not buy an egg salad sandwich that has been in a WaWa all day." He glances at the cashier and adds, "No offense."

"None taken," the kid says with a half shrug. "I wouldn't eat that shit either."

"Can I get a ham and cheese?" Claude yells back. Wayne gives up on the Doritos, giving the cashier an apologetic look that the cashier politely waves off. He gets to the freezer, where Claude is contemplating the available sandwiches with a grave look. He has two cradled in his arms and is closely examining a third. 

Wayne takes a brief moment to truly miss Danny.

"Just take this one," he says, grabbing the nearest non-egg-salad sandwich. "Turkey and Swiss, that sounds great."

Claude beams at him. "That _does_ sound great! Thanks, Simmer." He pats Wayne on the shoulder and walks towards the cashier, this time only _almost_ knocking over a display of TastyKakes.

Ten minutes later Wayne is finally sitting in a cab on the way home, Claude happily eating his disgusting sandwich and leaning on Wayne's shoulder. The smell of tequila and beer is overwhelming, and Wayne has a sneaking suspicion Claude hasn't washed his hair in a few days. 

"Tomorrow morning," Wayne says resolutely. "You are taking a shower and you are letting me buy you food from a real place. Food with _vegetables._ "

Claude beams, grabs Wayne’s hand, kisses the palm, and pats his cheek twice before returning to his sandwich. "Whatever you think is best." 

When they finally get to his house, Wayne manages to get Claude into bed with both shoes off. _Small victories_ , he thinks, before turning off the light. 

* * *

**At The Beach**

They go down the shore because Claude has a buddy who gave him his house for the weekend, and Wayne having never been down the shore is apparently deeply offensive to Claude. “It’s the best!” he yells over the noise coming through the car’s open windows. “So awesome. Everyone is awesome. And the beaches are…” 

“Awesome?” Wayne guesses. 

Claude snaps his fingers at him. “Yes! Exactly!” 

Claude is driving 15 miles over the speed limit and wearing a shirt that says ONE TEQUILA, TWO TEQUILA, THREE TEQUILA, FLOOR. The car smells faintly of weed and Wayne really should be encouraging him to slow down before they get arrested, but Claude seems happy and they’re finally not stuck in traffic, so Wayne leans his head against the window and falls asleep. 

* * *

The next morning, hungover and waiting for the Pop Tarts to come up, Wayne is less forgiving of Claude’s wardrobe choices. After five minutes of trying to make that morning’s shirt explode via pointed looks, he gives up and says, “Please take that off.”

Claude looks down at his I <3 ITALIAN MOMS shirt and looks back at Wayne in confusion. "What's wrong with my shirt?"

"Other than the fact that you will be wearing it where people can _see you_?"

Claude frowns. "Do you not like Italian moms?" 

Wayne throws his hands in the air. “Don’t play dumb with me! That shirt is - one, not a celebration of moms, and two, do you even _know_ any Italian moms?” 

Claude tilts his head to the side and shrugs. “I know French-Canadian moms. I’m sure it’s the same thing.”

Wayne snorts. “Oh, so you’d walk around _‘Earst_ wearing a shirt talking about how much you like MILFs named Mireille?” 

Claude hesitates, then says, “Probably not?” 

Wayne smirks and taps his chin. “And you’d be okay with wearing that shirt in front of Rinaldo and _his_ Italian mom?”

Claude looks down at his shirt again, then back at Wayne, and wrinkles his nose before flipping Wayne off. “I _like_ my shirt. I’m not changing it.” He leaves the kitchen with his middle finger still raised.

“Don’t think I won’t take a photo and show him!” Wayne yells after him.

* * *

The third day, Wayne wakes up to Claude shaking him awake while wearing a shirt on which there is an airbrushed portrait of his own face. Without the tooth.

"No," Wayne says, and burrows under his pillows. "I refuse."

"Come on, wake up,” Claude says, giving up on shaking Wayne and starting to poke his shoulders instead. “I'll buy you fried clams for breakfast." 

Wayne lifts his head from the pillow just long enough to make a face. "I refuse to be literally anywhere near you while you wear that." 

Claude sits on the edge of the bed and swings his legs around so they’re resting on Wayne’s back. "That's what you said about the other shirts and we still hung out. Quit being so fucking lame.” 

Wayne shoves Claude’s feet off him. "I'm not fucking around this time! That shit has gone too far. Wear something else." 

Claude stands up and walks to his side of the room, where he pulls out his bag and starts rummaging through it. He grabs the other clothes he’s worn, smells them and makes a face. "My other shirts are too dirty now. I think a spilled beer inside my bag.”

Wayne raises his eyebrows. "What you’ve been wearing is _seriously_ all you packed?" 

Claude tosses his bag aside and nods. "They're my shore shirts! I bought them here! I wear them here!" 

Wayne sighs and points at Claude’s current shirt. "Did you even own _that_ yesterday?" 

Claude shakes his head slowly. "Well. No. But I knew I was going to buy one on this trip, so.” He pulls the shirt out from his body and looks down at it. “I think it's cool."

Wayne scrubs a hand over his face. "It's really not."

Claude walks back over to the bed and punches Wayne’s thigh. "Whatever. Stop being an asshole and get out of bed."

"No,” Wayne says, throwing his pillow at Claude’s head. Claude catches it and flings it back at Wayne, who ducks it. 

"Fine," Claude says with a sigh. "I guess I just won't wear a fucking shirt today." He strips his t-shirt off and throws it at Wayne's head before stalking out of the room. 

Three hours later, Claude is whining about how much his back hurts while Wayne rubs more sunscreen into his sunburn.

“This is all your fault,” Claude says, poking Wayne hard. “If you had just let me wear my shirt - ”

“You are a _pale redhead_ ,” Wayne counters. “How is putting on sunscreen every time you leave the house not already part of your routine?” 

Claude lifts his head and wrinkles his nose, clearly about to say something, but the movement pulls against the burn, and he winces.

“It’s all done,” Wayne says after a moment, and then adds, “I’ll make it up to you later by putting the aloe on.”

Claude grins and takes a huge sip of his beer. “Knew I could count on you, Sims.” He leans down and gives Wayne a peck on the cheek before standing up. Wayne blinks at where Claude used to be, but Claude’s already moving away, yelling behind him. “I’m getting some hot dogs, I’ll bring you one!”

* * *

**At The Liberty Bell**

Claude calls him up on a Saturday afternoon and announces, “We're going to see the Liberty Bell.”

Wayne has been spaced out all morning watching terrible TV, and he doesn’t recall them making plans. “We are?”

“I've never seen it,” Claude says. “I remember Danny's kids talking about it. Seemed cool. And I’m at your house, so get off your ass.” That’s when Wayne’s doorbell starts ringing.

* * *

Claude drives them to the park, going on about the history of the bell the whole time. Wayne is 80% sure he’s guessing on most of it, but he did used to help the Brière kids with their homework, and it's not like Wayne remembers much American history himself. By the time they get to the bell, Claude's brimming with excitement, talking Wayne's ear off about Benjamin Franklin and French women and just generally waving his hands around a lot.

They get to the little building where the bell lives and go inside. Claude stares for a minute. Then he walks around the whole thing twice and stares at it some more. 

Wayne has just finished reading the second placard when Claude pulls up next to him. "Ready to go?"

Wayne blinks. "We ... just got here?"

Claude rolls his eyes. "But there's … it's nothing! It's just a _bell_." 

Wayne gives gives him a look and says slowly, "It's … the Liberty Bell. Of course it's a bell. What did you think it was - ?" Wayne's at a loss here. 

Claude gives a tiny shrug and gestures towards the bell. "I don't know, I thought it would be more! Like, ringing! Freedom ringing! Or something. Costumes!" 

Wayne sighs. "You thought it was a bell you could ring, didn’t you?"

Claude starts to nod and then catches himself and shakes his head. "Maybe."

"It's cracked!" Wayne says, pointing at the giant crack. "That's the whole … of course you can't ring it."

"I know that _now_ ," Claude says grumpily. "But you have to admit, it's a let-down." 

Wayne cocks an eyebrow. "I'd, uh, have to have been excited about this in order to be let down, man. You basically kidnapped me." 

Claude’s already ignoring him though, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. He tilts his head toward the trees behind them. "Wanna cut through the park?" 

Claude is trying convince Wayne that doing something educational that morning means that they’ve earned cheesesteaks for lunch when they stumble upon a group of Temple students playing frisbee golf, who are thrilled to have Claude to join them. "You sure you don't want to play?" Claude yells to Wayne as he practices his swing over by the trees.

Wayne eyes the drunken frat boys, the weird discs, the sweatshirts that say FROLF, and the trees themselves. "I’m sure. Just don't hurt yourself this time, man!" 

Claude flips him off and immediately proceeds to almost walk into a tree. Wayne doubles over laughing before high fiving one of the students. 

Claude plays for about an hour while Wayne alternates between dicking around on his phone, making small talk with the students, and dutifully paying attention whenever Claude yells, "Hey Wayne, watch this!" He's leaning against a tree playing 2048 when Claude walks over, leans down to kiss the top of his head and grins at him. "Ready to go?"

Claude being affectionate and handsy while entirely sober is new, but Wayne figures it’s not _that_ odd, so he shrugs, uses Claude’s outstretched hand to pull himself up, and shakes out his legs, which are a bit numb from all the tree-sitting. "Can we go eat now?" 

Claude spins the car keys around his fingers before nodding, and proceeding to tell Wayne about the game Wayne _just_ watched him play. 

**At The Club**

Claude throws a towel at Wayne's head after practice ends. "We're going clubbing tonight!" he yells from across the locker room.

Wayne sighs. It's not that he hates dancing. He actually really enjoys it. It's just that he likes dancing to the sort of mindless pop remixes that most clubs play, and Claude likes rave music from 1994. Wayne isn't sure if French-Canadian Retro Eurotrash is a _thing_ , but Claude makes a compelling case. One time he gave Wayne a ride home and played “Sandstorm" on repeat the whole time. It's why Wayne tries to arm wrestle Claude for music privileges every time they drive anywhere.

So Wayne isn't surprised when Claude takes him to a club playing the worst and loudest house music Wayne has ever heard. He can feel the speakers thumping in his skull, so of course Claude is grinning as he drags him over to the bar.

"Two Jägerbombs," Claude yells over the music when the bartender finally gets to them. 

"Fuck no," Wayne tries to yell back, but he's too late. The shots are already in front of them.

Three Jägarbombs later Wayne is finally starting to feel the music and let go, despite the fact that Claude has abandoned him to go dance directly in front of the speakers and blow out what remains of his hearing. Dancing is actually a pretty kind word for what Claude is doing - he's mostly just swaying from side to side in time with the beat, bobbing his head back and forth and occasionally lifting his arms - but it's not like Wayne has room to talk. For all that he likes to dance, he doesn’t exactly have skill, so he mostly stands in the back away from the speakers and the people who can really move.

While Wayne’s working his head bob, a new group of people pushes their way up front to the DJ and Wayne loses sight of Claude completely as Claude advances with them, hands in the air and yelling. Claude doesn't actually need a minder when he's in his element like this, so Wayne feels comfortable enough to go get another drink and fight his way back to his wall spot. 

When Claude re-emerges from the crowd, shirt damp with sweat and a huge grin on his face, he’s acquired glow sticks, three of which he’s wearing as bracelets and one which is top of his hat. 

"I want you to have this," Claude yells into Wayne's ear before taking the red glow stick off his wrist and pushing it on to Wayne's. 

Wayne claps him on the shoulder. "Thanks man, it looks good." Claude gives him a big smile before disappearing back into the crowd. 

* * *

Wayne can't really hear Claude over the music. The bass is vibrating in his chest, and Claude is speaking quietly and mostly to his feet. 

Wayne leans over so he can speak into Claude's ear. "I can't hear you, is everything okay?" Claude just looks back at him, silent. Wayne has a chance to notice that in addition to the glow sticks, Claude has somehow gotten glitter on his cheeks and in his beard before Claude puts his hands on Wayne's shoulders, walks him back into the wall, and kisses him. 

Claude tastes like Goldschlager and Jäger and the Carmex he uses whenever his lips get too chapped. One of his hands is on Wayne's hip and the other is cupping Wayne's cheek. Wayne pulls Claude closer and is rewarded by his palms getting covered in glittery sweat and Claude biting at his bottom lip. 

They keep making out pressed closed together, Claude’s small hip thrusts timed to the bass thumps, until the song changes and Claude pulls away. He’s grinning at Wayne, glitter now all over his face and cap knocked loose from when Wayne pulled him closer before grabbing his ass. Claude adjusts the brim of his hat, leans over, and kisses Wayne fast before whispering in his ear, "Come home with me." 

Wayne reaches out and strokes Claude's hipbone, dipping his hands briefly under the waistband of Claude’s shorts before saying into his ear, "Fuck you, I'm not paying the cab fare to Jersey.” 

Claude laughs, gives Wayne another quick kiss, and drags him out of the club. 

* * *

As much as Wayne wants to push Claude up against the wall outside the club, there are way too many people trying to get in for them to get away with that. Instead he lets Claude give directions to the cab driver and tries very hard to keep his hands to himself.

Claude, a handsy drunk to begin with, has way fewer qualms. He’s right up in Wayne’s space with thigh basically on Wayne’s crotch, he’s tangling their feet together, and he keeps trying to grab Wayne's hands.

"We're in a fucking cab, asshole," Wayne hisses, but Claude just grins at him and says in his ear, "When we get back to your place, I'm gonna - " Claude doesn't finish the sentence, instead biting Wayne's collarbone.

"Jesus," Wayne groans, pushing Claude off him to the other side of the cab. "Just … wait _ten minutes_ , okay?" 

Claude grins his usual slow, drunken grin, which has abruptly gone from from something Wayne rolls his eyes at to something extremely filthy.

"Fuck," Wayne says, entirely to himself.

* * *

Wayne ends up throwing a $50 at the cab driver and telling him to keep the change, because Claude's hand has found its way to his thigh and he figures time isn't on their side.

"Get out of the car," he says, and grabs Claude's hand to pull him through the door. The cab speeds off while Wayne and Claude make their awkward way to Claude’s condo, both a little too buzzed to be steady. Plus, Claude has his hands in Wayne's back pockets. They’re barely through the door before Claude is pressing huge sloppy kisses to Wayne’s neck. “Shit, Claude,” Wayne says, running his hair through Claude’s hair, which feels kind of crunchy. “Let’s … upstairs, okay?”

Claude nods and starts leading the way, occasionally pushing Wayne against the wall so he can kiss him more. It makes getting to Claude’s room take forever, but Wayne has no regrets, not even when they knock over a photograph. 

Claude’s bed is basically one step above a mattress on the floor, but Wayne can’t find it in himself to care when Claude is leading him into the bedroom. Wayne hops onto the bed and enjoys the bounce, before leaning back on his elbows. “So what do you want, G?” 

Claude’s standing in the doorway trying to take off his shirt, but it’s stuck halfway around his head and he can’t quite struggle out of it. Wayne stands up and pulls it off for him. “You,” Claude says once he’s out, hair sticking up in every direction. “Your dick. My dick - ” He clasps his hands together in some sort of indication of fucking. 

Wayne laughs and heads back to the bed, undoing his belt buckle on the way. “Okay, you got it.” 

“Great,” Claude says, giving a double thumbs up before undoing his pants, pushing them down around his ankle, and starting to walk towards Wayne. “It’s gonna be awesome, I’ve wanted to - ” At which point Claude trips over his pants and falls, half on the floor and half on the bed. 

“Whoa, buddy,” Wayne says, reaching a hand down to help him up. 

“S’fine,” Claude says, sitting up and kicking his pants all the way off. He kneels down and scoots over so he’s between Wayne’s thighs. “This is great, this is perfect.” He pulls Wayne’s pants down and presses gently on Wayne’s chest so that Wayne lays back. He runs his hands up and down Wayne’s thighs a few times before leaning over to kiss his knees. “Gonna make you pay,” Claude murmurs. 

Wayne’s not sure what he’s paying for, but it stops mattering very quickly because Claude’s sucking on the insides of his thighs while slowly jerking his dick. “Oh fuck,” Wayne says, and brings his hand to Claude’s hair.

Claude kisses between Wayne’s legs while jerking him off, slowly moving his mouth closer to Wayne’s dick. Wayne spreads his legs to give him more room and Claude starts nuzzling his thighs, stubble catching on his dick and balls every now and then. It’s a nice mix of sensations, which is probably why it takes Wayne a little while to realize the hand on his dick has stopped moving.

“Claude,” Wayne says, gently nudging him with his thigh. He doesn’t want to be pushy, but the dick-touching had been pretty great. Claude doesn’t respond, so Wayne nudges him again before opening his eyes and looking down.

Claude is passed out between his legs, drooling on the crease of his thigh. 

“Oh, gross!” 

He tries to shake him awake, but it doesn’t work, so he moves Claude’s head from his leg to the bed, slides off the bed, and wraps his arms around Claude’s middle. He’s getting ready to do a fireman’s carry when Claude lifts his head up. “Wayne?” he asks, fuzzily.

Wayne nods. “Still me, G.” 

Claude nods. “Was it good for you?” he asks, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Wayne hesitates before settling on, “It was definitely unforgettable.” He nudges Claude’s back. “C’mon on, let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow we can talk about how many apology waffles you owe me.”

Claude looks confused for a moment and then nods. “You got it, Simmer,” he says, before standing up just enough to flop onto the bed. “However many beej’s you need tomorrow, you got it.”

Wayne shoves him to the side and lays down next to him. “I said _waffles_.”

Claude nods sleepily and leans over to give Wayne a quick kiss. “I know, I’m adding in head free of charge.” His face is buried in the pillow and he’s dead to the world before Wayne can think of a response. 


End file.
